


Finding Agape

by biffjerky



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9747959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biffjerky/pseuds/biffjerky
Summary: After Yuri Plisetsky's gold medal at the GPF, Yakov and Lilia decide that they want to loosen some of the air out of his inflated head and ego by requiring him to do a pair ice dance routine to learn the value of co-working and the value of partnership, compared to solo skating. Lilia calls one of her dance students who also skates from a different area of Russia and she assigns them to learn two pair ice dances under her choreography. The story follows the slow progression of Yuri and Lucya's (OC) progressive friendship and possible intimacy as they train and perform their two ice dances.Lots of fluff.





	1. A "Lovely" Distraction

After his knees had smacked the ice and his face was suffocated by his hands and tears, there was nothing that Yuri Plisetsky couldn't do. He was on the top of his game as a skater, one that had definitely bettered Victor Nikiforov and his disgusting prized sow, who had surprisingly beefed up his skill since Victor had taken a liking to pork. Yuri couldn't quite say he enjoyed standing by Yuuri Katsuki in any given situation, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say that he hated Yuuri anymore; he'd learned over this particular skating season that he didn't need Victor to surpass world records, so he hadn't a single reason to be jealous of him any longer. Perhaps there was still a small, lingering bitterness that clawed at his chest when he saw Victor coddling his prize, but after soaring past Victor's world record and his little piglet's place on the podium, he'd begun to realize that Victor really wasn't all that he'd idolized him to be. He'd had more potential than Victor had ever given him credit for.

Life had been a rollercoaster since the end of the Grand Prix Final; he'd made men's figure skating history, he'd made a true name for himself, and now he had to train for next season. Yakov and Lilia had given him a slight break from his rigorous routine, only requiring him to practice his technique in skating and ballet four or five times a week instead of every day, and Yuri was both thankful and frustrated with the change in his schedule. His mind and body enjoyed the days he didn't have to truly worry about training, but there was a part of Yuri that always itched to continue practicing on his own so he wouldn't fall behind and out of shape in the process. He had a reputation to upkeep, and that stubborn fire that often caused Yakov's veins to pop was what was keeping him on his toes, even on his off days. He still spent a good hour or so exercising and practicing his form on his off days, just to reassure his rather insecure mind that he was still keeping the pace he'd set for himself-even if it was a little too rigorous for a boy of his age.

Although January was coming to an end, there was still a healthy enough mountain of snow on Moscow and the Red Square to fool its citizens into thinking it was still early December. It was a yearly phenomenon that Yuri actually looked forward to-- snow felt like a true home to Yuri, and after traveling around the world where snow was practically scarce, he felt welcomed by the almost feather-like brush of snow that dissipated as he kicked his feet in the snow, his hood raised over his head, headphones intact. He was on his way back from the grocery store, where he'd been spotted just after being checked out by some of 'Yuri's Angels,' who'd torn after him as he sprinted away from the store. Luckily, it was only a small group of girls, and they were easy enough to out-run. It was only when he'd begun to slow that he paid attention to the snow, now lazily drifting, although occasionally brushing his clothes with a gust of wind. His lungs burned, but it was commonplace for any Russian citizen who spent more than ten seconds performing any kind of physical activity outside. 

Silently, on the way back to Yakov and Lilia's house, Yuri cursed his two coaches for sending him out, now 'training him for fame,' but despite how much he tried to deny his newly gained fame, he was aware of it, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was actually thankful for both of them trying to acclimate him to the horrendous dealings that fame handed him, even though the stress was plentiful for the transition.

The walk was long, but not necessarily strenuous; the actual process of crossing the long road was what truly bothered Yuri. Even with his headphones in, the surrounding air was quiet, aside from the slight, whistling undertone of the occasional gust of frost that tousled the thin, blonde locks of his hair that peeked out from his hoodie. These walks gave him time to think, and that wasn't something that Yuri enjoyed after a few minutes. Sure, he could idle himself for a few minutes and think about nonsensical things, but eventually it would drift to deeper places in his subconscious, which prompted him to immediately yank out his phone and change the song he was listening to to get his mind on something less thought-provoking. He was emotionally exhausted after the Grand Prix Final, after all the twists and turns that his one year journey had thrown at him; all he really wanted to do was be in an emotional purgatory, although it was nearly impossible for Yuri, who was still in the throes of his reactive teenage emotions—and would be for at least a few more years. In the meantime, he would just have to keep a strong hand on the inside of his forehead to keep himself straight.

After a few more brief gusts of snow, Yuri managed to shove his phone in his hoodie pocket and reach his home-away-from home, the hand holding the groceries pained from the cold. He shivered lightly, then pried the door open, the warmth immediately cloaking him in familiar, comforting smells.

“I'm back.” He announced, almost flatly, placing the groceries on one of the pristine kitchen counters. The smell of his grandfather's piroshki caught his attention almost immediately, and as he turned to look at the table, where they lay in a basket, still bathed in warmth, Lilia strode into the kitchen, wearing a furry bathrobe over her silk night-dress, as she did almost nightly, her kraken-like features untouched by makeup—making her look even less human than with makeup.

“Your grandfather sent these over a few hours ago as a congratulation for your win, we kept them warm at his request, Yuratchka.” She explained, patting the neck of the chair he normally sat at. Yuri broke out into a beam, his eyes glistening with delight, and he immediately grabbed two of them and plopped down into the chair, causing it to rub backward against the wooden floor, causing Lilia to cringe slightly. Yuri practically swallowed the first one, his cheeks pink from both the cold and the warmth of the piroshki, and while he breathed in through his nose peacefully, visibly relaxing, the next thing that came out of Lilia's mouth was enough to cause him to freeze all over again.

“Yuratchka, as a part of your training, I've called one of my students from across Russia to come stay with us for the next few months. You're both going to be training for your solo careers, but there will also be a duet skate that you're going to perform, so we can teach you that skating isn't always just about yourself. With a win so big at your young age, we can't afford a skater with a head bigger than Russia itself.”

Duet skating. That had answered Yuri's biggest question. A girl would be coming to stay with them. 

Immediately conflicted, Yuri's face revolted back to its original wrinkle and he glared at Lilia, more offended at the notion that he was getting a big head than the idea that a girl was going to be coming to stay with him for a good few months.

“I don't have a big head, Lilia, and I won't.” He snapped, glaring at her, all the while shoving another piroshki into his mouth.

“Well, what you think doesn't change any plans.” She practically hissed, standing up straighter, her nose lifting slightly, a reminder of her superiority over him. “She's coming tomorrow, so make sure you're awake by 10am—at the latest. If I come upstairs and you don't look presentable, I'll make you look presentable. I will not have the number one male figure skater in the world meet a lady without looking sharper than a knife.”

Yuri huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes, prompting a slap on his shoulder by Lilia, whose eyes slitted like his cat's when he was angry, and then he huddled up, almost pouting.

“Fine.”

Finally finishing off his Piroshki, Yuri got up rather heatedly, flipping his hood back up to signal that he wanted to be left alone; both Yakov and Lilia knew the action to a tee. Once he reached his room, Yuri slammed the door—not as loudly as he normally did, but enough to let Yakov and Lilia know that he was irritable and unhappy. Sighing, Yuri furrowed his eyebrows and collapsed onto his bed, crawling slowly onto his comforter face down, while his long-haired siamese cat came to his side, purring and rubbing the side of his face against Yuri's shoulder before settling down in a coil next to the moody boy, unbothered by his stiffness.

A girl. What a lovely distraction.


	2. Rosemary Shampoo

The gentle pull of his eyelids were the first things that caught his attention the next morning. His body felt heavy under his thick blankets--leopard print, of course--demanded as soon as he moved in with Lilia and Yakov. His long-haired siamese was curled up next to him, close enough to his face for his tail to lightly brush his nose. This was commonplace for Yuri, and despite the normal comfort this would normally provide him, today was different. Immediately remembering Lilia’s harsh words, Yuri jerked his head up, no doubt-mussed and curled in a tousled mess just below the base of his head, and gave a panicked glance at the clock. Eight-thirty; too early. Yuri stared at the clock for a few extra moments, only breaking his gaze when his cat’s tail twitched and brushed the side of his arm. His cat had stood up now, stretching his back legs far behind him, his tail twitching just at the end out of sheer pleasure before letting out a small purr and mew.

Yuri sighed and ran a hand across his cat’s arched back, then he placed a fist sharply on his eye, groaning before deciding to drop himself back onto his pillow, firmly shutting his eyes as an act to will him back to sleep, but the sheer terror of sleeping past ten in the morning was enough to wake him fully in a manner of seconds. He could hear shuffling and clinking in the kitchen, probably from Yakov and Lilia, who usually woke up around seven to sit and discuss training regimens and programs, as well as generally converse about trivial things, such as the weather and future endeavors. This morning was a bit different, however. The lights were on much brighter and the kitchen seemed generally more alive. No doubt they were preparing for his future skating partner to arrive.

Yuri still wasn’t sure how he felt about this ‘new arrival.’ On one hand. the prospect of a girl living with him and his coaches was both invigorating and terrifying. He’d been so focused on his career that he was craving some form of normalcy, but at the same time, he’d been so focused on training that he didn’t want a girl--something naturally alluring to young man like Yuri-- to lure him far away from where his high standards held him. Naturally, he concluded, he had mixed feelings about whoever his girl was, and the anticipation was something both exciting and nerve wracking.

Finally deciding that sleep was no longer an option, Yuri huffed out an angry breath and smashed his pillow down and finally sat up fully, furrowing his eyebrows before his cat rubbed his face affectionately; at least she wouldn’t ever mean more to him than his cat.

Tearing his blankets off of him, Yuri stifled a yawn, in sync with his cat hopping off of his bed. It was definitely cold this morning, considering the sharp gust of cold that greeted him as soon as his bare legs were exposed to the cold. Normally, he would sleep in only his boxers, maybe the occasional T-shirt, but during the winter months in Russia, a long sleeved pullover hoodie was a staple for sleeping. Shivering lightly, Yuri drowsily trudged to his closet, immediately wincing as he gripped one of his casual shirts. Lilia would kill him if he wore something like that. He hovered over another one. That wouldn’t cut it either, there was a stain near the tail end of the shirt from some unknown substance. Letting out a defeated sigh, Yuri asked himself how Lilia could live under the amount of pressure she set on herself every day--having to wear the most high-end, perfectly ironed clothes. It seemed impossible to Yuri.

Eventually pushing back on one of his hangers, Yuri rolled his eyes and poked his head out of his room, wincing lightly in the bright lights that warmed the normally cold, stark kitchen.

“Lilia,” He called, hugging himself against the side of his door. “just pick what you want me to wear today, I’m not even gonna try, you’re gonna want something different anyway. I’m going to shower.” He chastised bitterly, although, despite the cold remark, Lilia seemed to light up, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Once Yuri retreated back into his room, he sighed and brushed his hair out of his face while he bent over and grabbed some newer boxers from his drawer and shook them--whether to dispel his own anxious energy or to clean the lint, it wasn’t clear. Slinking out of his room, Yuri crawled into the bathroom, dropping his new boxers on the ground before taking off his sweatshirt and night boxers to slip into the shower; he made the water warmer than normal, for what reason, he wasn’t exactly sure, but the warmth was comforting, even though his skin did quietly detest the heat as steam billowed the entire bathroom. He spent a little extra time being prickled by the hot water in the shower, letting his long, blonde hair hang low in his face, quietly watching and feeling the water slide through his hair almost thickly. With each stream of water that dripped onto his cheeks and down like a waterfall onto his toes, Yuri felt his mind drift to all of the different scenarios that could happen in the next few hours.

The call of the unknown kept Yuri on his toes and in his headspace, a place that he preferred to keep out of. His thoughts could be daunting, poisonous, and too wise for his liking; he felt like he’d been cursed over the past few months with the ability to reflect. Trying to distract himself again, he grabbed his shampoo and scrubbed it all through his hair, perhaps subconsciously trying to shake his thoughts back into their normal pattern. He felt different; just the mention of another person coming to stay with them was a great leap of change, and after all of his success, he didn’t want anything to change. He was happy where he was, and he didn’t want this girl to step in and rip each of his successes apart by her sheer presence. Roughly scratching the fragrant rosemary shampoo out of his hair, Yuri applied a thick coat of conditioner and leaned on the opposite side of the shower, the water spouting in front of him instead of behind him. He wasn’t too cold, the steam kept him warm enough, but the nakedness that he felt reminded him of how vulnerable he was going to feel in the coming hours. He didn’t want to meet this girl. He didn’t want to skate with her. He wanted nothing to do with her.

Almost stomping back into the spray of hot water, Yuri combed the conditioner out of his hair earlier than he normally would have and as soon as he was clean, he took a deep breath, almost dizzying himself by sucking in the humid, hot air, then slammed the water off and squeezed the excess water out of his hair, stepping out of the shower to grab a towel--not before watching his tense face in the mirror, small droplets of water sliding off of his eyelashes. Shoving the warm towel in his face, Yuri took a deep breath, his nerves finally surfacing, then dried himself off, pulling on new boxers before cracking the door to his bathroom open, his wet hair leaving small droplets as they fanned out to their normal, straight texture. 

Lilia had laid out some mildly respectable clothes; they weren’t something he would normally wear, but they weren’t stiff and perfumed like some of his suits. It was a fairly casual shirt, a nicer pair of jeans than he would have put on, and a nicer pair of his sneakers, normally untouched in his room, now finally resurrected for the occasion. Yuri wasn’t too bothered by the selection. Lilia must have remembered that fighting him into some nicer clothes would be difficult task that she would lose every time, but, despite this, she did leave a trench coat out, with a sticky note attached that read, “If you leave this house to go say hello, you are wearing this. No arguments.” Yuri frowned, but grabbed the rest of his clothes, not too bothered by the threat; he would just stay inside.

Once he was dressed, hair still dripping, Yuri grabbed his phone and checked the time-- ten in the morning. Had he really been in the shower for over an hour? The preoccupation of his thoughts lasting so long frightened Yuri, so he frantically locked his phone and began combing his hair, shaking it lightly, sending small droplets flying, before he grabbed his towel and squeezed the ends of his wet hair, shaking it again so it would retain its normal bounce, even when it was wet.

Leaving the bathroom, leaving a puff of steam behind him, Yuri nervously eyed the table, wondering what could have been made for breakfast on a day like this one. Surprisingly enough, Yakov had busied himself and made Russian Blinis (pancakes), with still warm green tea, garnished on the side with a freshly cut lemon, skirted by a small bowl of sugar cubes, and next to it, a little bowl of sour cream. It was an abnormally nice meal, and it was quiet. The kitchen was empty, leaving Yuri to himself and the warm lights of the kitchen. He sat down silently, before peering down as his cat mewed and rubbed up against his legs, happily reuniting after the good hour that they’d spent apart. Yuri let a small smile grace his lips and lifted his cat up to his lap, who settled happily into his normal coil while Yuri spooned at the Blinis and shoved them into his mouth.

Lilia came from behind and clapped her hands rather suddenly, startling Yuri into almost choking on his hot tea.  
“Yuri! I’m impressed to see you ready. I would have preferred that you’d eaten before ten, but I guess I can’t complain. You did wake up on time, which is enough to give you a pass on my expectations.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Yuri replied dryly, now taking a more gentle sip of his tea.

“Be ready, little Yuratchka, she’ll be here any minute.” Lilia prompted, clapping her hands again, slinking across the house just to make sure that all of the couch’s pillows were in place. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Lilia shot up like a lightning rod, and Yakov straightened his coat and emerged from a different side of the house.  
“Yuratchka.” Yakov ordered, his eyes narrowing as he witnessed Yuri shoving a Bilini in his mouth. He jerked his head rather aggressively, and Yuri rolled his eyes, swallowing before grabbing a quick sip of his tea before almost perching himself shyly behind Yakov.

Lilia opened the door and her wail of happiness nearly shocked Yuri as much as it shocked his cat, who fluffed up and skittishly tore into Yuri’s room, his tail exceeding its normal volume.

“Oh, Lucya Nikolaev! Lucya, darling, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” Lilia cooed, smacking a kiss on the girl’s cheeks. She was definitely shorter from what Yuri could tell, even though she was hidden from sight as he shrunk behind Yakov. His coach shot him a glare that practically barked, ‘stand straight, boy!’ and in rebellion, Yuri’s eyes narrowed uncomfortably, and he shifted, only slightly relaxed his shoulders.  
Yakov was the next to greet Lucya, his low, gravelly voice letting out a warm laugh as he embraced the girl, now visible to Yuri slightly. She had fairly straight brunette hair, but the rest was a mystery until Yakov stood straight and turned, gesturing to Yuri with an open hand.  
“Lucya, this is Yuri, I’m sure you know of him.”

Lucya, as she was called, was now face to face with him. She was shorter than him by a few inches, with wide, almost tawny-brown eyes that had a slight gold tint to them in direct sunlight. She had a naturally blush on her cheeks and nose from the cold, and immediately, she lit up, a warm smile lifting her cheeks, revealing a small dimple on one of her cheeks. It was rather charming, admittedly.

“Of course, how could I forget the Russian kitten?” she asked teasingly, her voice implying confidence, although her extended hand implied otherwise. Luckily, she seemed just as nervous, however, she was much better at playing her nerves off than Yuri.  
“It’s the Russian Ice Tiger,” he quipped quickly, almost sharply, but softened slightly, for fear of hurting the girl’s feelings, despite her almost challenging smirk that followed his correction.

“Whatever floats your boat, Plisetsky.” She replied with a small laugh, her small dimple lighting her pink cheeks more than they already did. She had a simple, but rather colorful face--one that Yuri found intriguing, especially compared to his pale complexion. She looked almost the opposite to him. Where he had blonde hair, she had brunette, he had little color to his skin--she seemed to flourish with every color possible--their only connecting factor seemed to be their underlying shyness.  
“Whatever.” He replied, looking away from her, unable to hide the slight blush on his cheeks.

“Now that the two of you are acquainted, Lucya, let me show you where you’ll be staying,” chirped Lilia, leaving both yuri and Yakov behind stagnantly. It was rare that she moved so quickly. She;d always taken a more slow, direct approach--one with more dignity than she could ever totally harbor.  
“You’ll be in the room right next to Yuri’s, so you’ll be sharing a bathroom.” 

Yuri opened his mouth in protest, his eyebrows furrowed, but Yakov clasped him roughly on the shoulder, a silent command to keep his mouth shut--so, despite every fiber of his being, he listened and shut his mouth bitterly, unable to contain a sour frown.

“We’ve made some breakfast, if you’d like to eat,” Lilia explained, gesturing to the table with Yuri’s half-eaten plate of Blinis and mostly finished green tea. “you have a plate of your own--you don’t have to eat Yuri’s leftovers,” she teased, her sharp cheekbones, over-blushed, even more tight with a smile.  
Lucya nodded, smiling, despite a mild amount of discomfort, then turned to Lilia and explained, “Oh, thanks, Lilia, I’ll eat something after I settle in, ok?” Lucya then readjusted her coat and glanced toward Yuri, who locked eyes with her for a brief moment before he tore his eyes away with a quick snap of his head, trying to look indifferent, despite the warm burning on his cheeks, leaving a fair amount of color on his cheeks. He rationalized his behavior by claiming to himself that he was nervous. It was nothing else.

Lilia nodded and clapped her hands again. “Of course, take your time, at two this afternoon we’re going to begin practice with Yuri, and you as well if you feel up to coming, we won’t push you, since you did have a day of travel, but you’re welcome to come.” She chirped.

Yuri shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Yakov, who gave him a hard stare, but blinked, letting Yuri flee to his room as soon as Lucya had gone into the room next to his. Closing his door quietly, Yuri cursed under his breath and sat on the edge of his bed, his entire face warm as he buried his head in his hands. This would be much more difficult than he'd anticipated.


	3. Fire, meet Gasoline.

Keeping himself focused was going to be a much more difficult job than he anticipated. Peering through his fingers at the ground, Yuri took a deep breath and lifted his hands off of his head, placing them solidly on his knees. This was all just from embarrassment. He’d barely even gotten a full glance at Lucya, and if there was one thing that Yuri believed, it was that love at first sight was nothing but a load of trash. After a deep breath, Yuri’s face didn’t seem to burn so madly, and instead of going and talking to anyone else, he crawled back onto his bed and threw the covers back over him, his still damp hair pressing onto his pillow cooly, helping chill his cheeks while he pulled out his phone and decided to distract himself.

Around noon, Yuri felt a new burst of energy, powered not by any real positive emotion, just raw determination. He pulled off his new shoes and slightly uncomfortable shirt and pulled on his tight black shirt, letting the athletic fabric smooth down to his skin, one that mirrored the soft embrace of a winter undershirt. Then, ravaging around his closet after a good two days of not putting away his clean clothes, Yuri found his more loose fitting skating pants, lined with wool to keep him from getting too cold when he was on the ice. He swallowed dryly and grabbed his more tame skates--the simple black ones--after all, he couldn’t deck out in his flamboyant leopard print just yet. He had some dignity.

Slinging the laces around his fingers, Yuri tossed the skates over his shoulder and let them bounce lightly as he entered the kitchen, where his bag--and Lucya, were both rested at the table. Immediately, Yuri paused, his face popping a small amount of shock, but he brushed it off almost instantly, almost stalking over to his bag, which was straight across the table from Lucya, who was eating a sandwich--probably one of Yakov’s ‘specials,’ which were actually just normal sandwiches he managed to piece together, who was scrolling through her phone, seemingly ignoring Yuri until she heard his bag unzip.

Lucya looked up at Yuri, then started, her voice confident, although subtextually timid, “Hey, you’re packing up pretty early.”

“Have you ever worked with Lilia?” He asked sharply, glaring at her slightly, although his tone was a little less fiery than normal; he spoke in a manner that implied that she wasn’t necessarily his source of aggression, but Lilia. “She expects you to be anywhere thirty minutes early, and if you’re not, then you’re in for hell.”

Lucya smiled, looking down at her phone lightly before returning her gaze to Yuri, her smile curling into a light smirk.

“She does that for disciplinary reasons, Ice Tiger,” 

“Yeah, I know that.”

“No, I mean she only uses it when she needs to.”

Yuri paused his packing and snapped his head up, locking eyes with Lucya, who was smirking behind her sandwich. Seeing that Yuri was about to open his mouth and speaking, Lucya continued,

“She never makes me come in early, because I’m always on time. I mean, I know you’re practically married to the ice, but I’ve heard that you’re usually late to the altar.”  
Taking another bite of her sandwich, Lucya closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, smirking as she chewed on the remaining bits of her sandwich.  
Feeling slightly exposed and embarrassed, Yuri’s mouth contorted into an uncomfortable grimace; her analysis was a bit too accurate for his liking. She and Lilia had probably been attached at the hip when she was training with her in St. Petersburg; which prompted another question that Yuri hadn’t thought to ask.

“Whatever. Where are you from, anyway? Lilia said you had a day of travel.” Yuri asked, keeping his eyes on his bag before sitting down across from her, only meeting her eyes once before pulling out his phone for a crutch.

Once she finished the last bite of her sandwich, Lucya rolled her eyes upward, as if she had to recall the name of her home town--no doubt for dramatic effect.  
“Well, I’m from St. Petersburg, technically. I was born here and stuff, but we moved south when I was...four?” She began, scrunching up her face slightly. “Anyway--short answer--Rostov-on-Don; it’s right on the Black Sea. It’s got a bunch of ports and other things.”

“Why do ports matter?” He asked darkly, curiously defensive.

Lucya’s eyes seemed to dim slightly, her smile dropping slightly to a more serious frown, as if to hide some form of offense from his words.  
“My dad works the ports and sails a lot, so we always stay by the water. Apparently he was moved away from St. Petersburg because they needed more people in Rostov-on-Don.” She explained, placing her chin in her hand quietly, her eyes slightly softer as she glanced back down at her phone.

Yuri’s eyes darted down to the dark-wooded table for a moment and his mouth shifted quietly, and he swallowed, almost feeling like he’d stepped on thin ice. He hadn’t meant to sound rude, but she had to have known that it was simply his nature, right?  
“Oh,” He answered rather quietly, fighting an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“Anyway,” She spoke up, seemingly out of the funk of her more serious answer, “I’m gonna go watch you practice today, I wanna see where you stand.” She explained, meeting his eyes before offering a tiny smile.

Almost startled, Yuri furrowed his eyebrows and smacked his own eyes in the line of hers, widening slightly almost as if in surprise.

“Fine, whatever. Are you rehearsing today?” He asked, almost aggressively, his competitive worry crawling out into his voice.

“Yeah, cool your head, I will.” Lucya snickered, dropping the crust of her sandwich on her plate. “Don’t worry, you’ll see as much of me as I see of you.” Immediately, Lucya’s smile snaked into a smirk, and she looked back at Yuri with a teasing fire sparkling in her eyes. She knew just how he would take her comment, and her intention was clearly to see him squirm. And it worked.

Yuri’s face immediately began to glow bright red, and he scowled, bearing his gritted teeth slightly.

“Shut up!” Yuri barked, clamping the word with his jaw. “I see what you’re doing--stop it!”

“What?” She asked innocently, tilting her head before sipping her water. “getting on your level?”

Her voice was almost sickly sweet with this comment, her eyes still glittering with that teasing fire.

“Yes!” He barked without thinking, standing up suddenly, scooching his chair back rather loudly, surely popping one of Lilia’s veins from across the apartment.

“Fine, fine!” She laughed, her own face tinting pink before she stood, waving her hands in front of her in an act of playful defense. “Calm down, it’s just good fun, Yurio.”

“Do not call me that!” Yuri yelled, his anger piling slowly on, expressed purely through the intensity of his words and the gritting of his teeth.

“Sorry… Jesus.” Lucya snapped back, looking slightly hurt by her counterpart’s harsh tone, clinking her drink on the table to catch his attention. “It was just a joke, take your foot out of your ass for a second...” 

As she finished her sentence, Lucya rolled her eyes and made a point to shove her way past Yuri, who looked almost more than ready to shove back, and re-entered her room, roughly closing the door in the process.

"I'm gonna go unpack."

Yuri, balling his fists at his sides, marched over to the nearest couch cushion and threw it roughly at the ground, a useless act to quell his boiling, insignificant rage. Feeling his entire existence shake with rage, Yuri grabbed his bag and skates and practically tore his way outside into the cold; he could walk to the rink. It might have been a bit of a rash decision--it was a good five or six miles away, after all-- but at least it would give him time to cool down before he finally got there. Hopefully.

When the cold wind blasted Yuri, he couldn’t help but suck in a chilled breath, his skin slightly prickled by the wet, cold air that held itself in a cloud around St. Petersburg. Pulling his bag tightly over his shoulder, Yuri’s tight, angry scowl spread to his entire face, creating an almost callous, leather mask against the cold. When he calmed down it would be hell-- his face would be bright pink and his nose would no doubt be running like crazy, but at least he wouldn’t be suffocating in an angry heat.

Yuri marched angrily along the concrete path on the side of the road, crossing one of the bridges, only letting his eyes dart toward the pale, almost gray water that was moving stiffly in the cold. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the water to freeze; it was an abnormally warm day for St. Petersburg, despite the fact that it was just barely above freezing temperature, and Yuri decided to use that information to reaffirm his anger. He was so heated from his encounter with Lucya that the world seemed to respond. That was how much power he liked to imagine that he had when he was upset. At his change in mood, the weather followed. Despite this, however, the sun was still bright over the unsaturated sky and ground, slicked with pale clouds, not heavy enough to promise any rain, but just enough to put a damper on the bright sun.

This whole entire plan of Lilia’s was stupid. How were they supposed to do a pair skate if the two of them couldn’t keep their tongues to themselves? This was going to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated--one that could almost match that of trying to keep from curling his lip at Yuuri and Victor every time they were in the same room. He was easy to anger, she was easy to offend, which made the two of them both reactive. They were fire and gasoline, each working off of each other to create an absolute monster of an explosion. Perhaps Lilia saw it as an opportunity for a passionate flame, one that could dazzle the crowd like fireworks, but for the time being, it seemed as though it would just be petty house fires until they got used to each other.

In his stubborn, self-righteous determination to keep himself primarily focused on his rage, Yuri managed to walk the entire way to the skating rink with his entire face scrunched up; by the time he reached the rink--which was over an hour later--his face was sore from the constant awkward pull on his facial muscles. Even he wasn’t used to this kind of frown. He still had a good forty-five minutes before his practice, and when he got into the rink and plopped down on one of the hard, wooden polished benches, he felt like it could have been hours. As he pulled on his tame skates, Yuri wished he’d brought his leopard print ones instead. Screw being tame and polite; that wasn’t him.

Once his skates were on and his things were stuffed roughly in his locker, Yuri marched down the ramp from inside down to the outside edge of the rink, crinkling his nose when he saw that there were still a few people on the rink. Yuri always considered this particular ice skating venue his own, so it was unnerving seeing people skating on ice that he considered his, but he couldn’t be too angry, since there was still an inkling of rational awareness of the situation in the back of his mind.

Letting out a huff, Yuri gripped the edge of the rink’s opening and effortlessly pushed himself forward onto the ice. It was hard, slightly grooved from other people's’ skates, but Yuri didn’t pay much mind to it. The slight indentations didn’t sway him at all. Trying to dispel some of the angry energy he had, and warm himself up in the process, Yuri did a few easy laps around the ice, smoothly swinging past some of the children that were still learning to explore the ice correctly and simultaneously pulled his hair into its classic half-up half-down do. Once he realized that he was beginning to intimidate some of the younger kids by zooming past them too quickly, Yuri rolled his eyes and left the ice, checking his phone to see the time. He had about half an hour until Yakov would be coming to coach him, probably followed by Lilia--and dreadfully, Lucya.

Standing off to the side, Yuri stripped off his skates, feeling a little less heated (internally, of course, he was externally freezing) and went to one of the private rooms inside, tossing his skates to the side before warming himself in the little heated space. 

While he waited, Yuri plugged his headphones back into his ears while he stretched, practically bending himself into a pretzel eighteen different ways before finally feeling thawed enough for a real warm up. Yuri blasted his music louder than his own brain could comprehend at some times and did all sorts of warm-ups, jogging in place, different stretches, leg kicks and ballet jumps, whatever could satisfy the time he had left to wait. Despite all of this distraction, however, Yuri couldn’t help but still feel troubled after his earlier argument with Lucya. He himself was distracted, and it would surely show in practice.

Feeling only more frustrated, Yuri let out a frustrated grunt and grabbed his water bottle, walking to the back, where he had free access, to fill up his water bottle. From behind, he could hear people slowly exiting the rink--his practice was soon, after all--but today, there was a different reaction in his gut than normal. On a regular day, Yuri would feel a flutter of excitement, his lips would break out into a grin and his eyes would light up, but this was a different day. This time, all he felt was a clutch of dread.

Taking a quick swig of his water to try and calm the uncomfortable tightness in his chest and stomach, Yuri left the back room, walking with long strides, purposeful ones, without looking up until he got to his bag. Yakov, of course, was there, and Lilia was close by, glaring at him.

“Yuri Plisetsky!” She barked, her eyes narrowing when she met his. Yuri winced. “Since when did you decide that leaving without us to go to practice was a good idea?” 

Yuri looked away, still not uttering a word, and Lilia seeming to steam at the dimness of his reaction. 

“Well, Yuri?”

“I just needed some air.” He snapped back, idly grabbing his skates before plopping down and lacing them up again. Twice in an hour he’d taken his skates on and off. He really was distracted.

“That’s all fine and good, but tell us next time.” Lilia snapped before sharply turning her chin up and away from him, her arms crossed.

Yuri rolled his eyes to himself.

Lucya didn’t seem to be there, which made Yuri feel safe enough to open his shoulders up slightly, but there was still a sneaking suspicion that kept him poised, still slightly shrunken behind himself. He didn’t want to look at her while she was angry; she made him angry--and her anger made him even more irate. In his ignorant, socially one-sided mind, Yuri had seen Lucya’s reaction as over-dramatic, complicated, and something worthy of truly upsetting him; oppositely, his anger and reactivity had meant nothing. He had the right to be angry, it was his staple--nobody else ever had the right to get angry at him but himself. If anyone else was angry at him, they were wrong.

“Lace up, Yuratchka. On the ice in one minute.” Yakov ordered roughly, his hands still buried in his thick coat. On any other occasion, Yuri would have snapped back, but he still didn’t feel like opening his mouth. He had too much on his mind and too much to think about. Standing up, his legs unnecessarily stiff, Yuri silently walked over to the outer edge of the rink’s opening, stopping just as his hand wrapped around the inside.

“Where’s she?” He asked quietly, his voice brooding. “She said she was coming.”

Lilia perked up at his question, regarding him with crossed arms.

“She is coming, Yuri,” Lilia snapped, seemingly offended that he hadn’t called Lucya by her name. “she’s getting herself settled here at the rink. You don’t need to focus on her right now, get on the ice.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, seemingly less tense knowing that he had some time to himself on the ice before he would catch her eye and inevitably get stiff and angry all over again, then pulled himself back onto the rink, which was now an empty, open canvas that he could sprawl himself out on. Seeing the large rink so empty was a comforting sight that always eased Yuri before practice. During competitions, the ice could either be daunting or exciting, but since his one nervous flub in one of the qualifying rinks, and surely on future endeavors, the ice could be something intimidating, and if there was anything that could make Yuri feel sick that wasn’t in relation to Victor and Yuuri, it was seeing his red carpet turn long and thin and being forced to walk on it with sticky-soled shoes.

Once he slid on the firm ice, Yuri did a few laps around the fresh ice, forcing his mind anywhere but his upcoming future, then slid to a stop over where Yakov was, nailing the front of his skate over one leg and into the ice, where he talked with him briefly about what practice would entail.

Hopefully nothing as distracting as lunch.


	4. Calypso

From across the rink, Lucya emerged from the warm, sauna-like room before the rink, her own bag over her shoulder. She was seemingly less tense than Yuri, but her eyes were wary as she crossed the outside of the rink, following its round edges before finally finding the blonde renegade on the ice with Yakov. Stifling any truly sour feelings, Lucya went and sat down by Lilia, who’d told her to watch Yuri’s practice to get a handle on how the kitten worked when he wasn’t surrounded by cameras. Like she’d expected, he performed differently on his home ice than he did on others, and his technique and artistry were different; viewing him from the ice where he stood was viewing him from a less self-imposed facade. She was watching the real Yuri, not the one that was caked in eighteen layers of makeup, pumped up so hard that he practically cracked the ice with his zeal.

Without that zeal, she could truly analyze his strengths and weaknesses. As she’d been told, generally speaking, his previous routines had lost some integrity when it came to step sequences, and while he still performed them phenomenally, there were enough marginal differences that caught Lucya’s eyes to make note of them. She kept quiet at Lilia’s side, her eyes solidly focused on Yuri, who was nailing his leaps like she could have never imagined. While she had trained more as a dancer than a skater before her arrival to St. Petersburg, she still had trouble maintaining a certain height on her jumps when she was in ice skates. She was more than prepared to be Yuri’s skating partner, if she hadn’t been, Lilia wouldn’t have asked her to come with them, but at the same time, she wasn’t as close to home in skates as Yuri was, just as he wasn’t as close to home in a dance studio.

Lucya felt a small smile lift the corners of her mouth when he landed a particularly over-rotated jump, and glanced over at Yakov, who was barking at Yuri to remember that his jumps should be less sloppy considering his last large win at the Grand Prix final. There were things in Yuri’s skating that she found to be genius--many, in fact-- and others that she knew he could improve on such as general emotion. His flow was something that looked like water toppling off of a waterfall. He looked like he belonged on the ice. It was no wonder he’d done so well in the Grand Prix Final. However, she couldn’t help but wince at his occasionally sloppy step sequence.  
Regardless, once his allotted time was finished, she couldn’t help be feel awed by how real his talent and determination were in person. She would have to see how he’d fare with a partner.

“Alright, Lucya, you’re up!” Called Yakov from across the rink.

Yuri slid off the ice naturally, his cheeks and nose pink from the chill of the rink, and he locked eyes with Lucya as she stood and approached his path, her dark eyes full of mischief all over again. Swallowing dryly before tilting his water bottle into his mouth, Yuri watched her, and before she fully passed, she praised cooly, 

“Nice skating, Plisetsky.”

Yuri only let himself grunt out a response, both from his own exhaustion and his inability to stay comfortable around her. He began walking in the general direction of his locker to pack up, but before he could get very far, Lilia screeched from her seat,

“Yuri! Come here and sit! Don’t be rude.”

Yuri’s shoulders tensed, and he let out an audible growl before turning over and stalking over to Lilia, grumpily plopping down next to her before leaning over to untie his skates.

“I need you to watch Lucya skate so you can figure out what she does well and needs help with. I asked her to do the same of you, and you will as well. It’s the only way you two will succeed as a team in pair skating. You have to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses to compensate for them or provide any kind of guidance to further better both of your skating skills. After she warms up, I’m going to have you watch one of her free programs that she learned under my choreography back where she lived.”  
Yuri blinked, taking another heavy gulp from his water bottle before pulling his legs up onto the bench, crossing them indian-style as he grabbed a tissue and blew his nose, which was running in the brisk chilliness of the rink.

“Did she ever perform it?” He asked, now genuinely curious.

“She doesn’t perform in competitions.” Lilia replied succinctly.

“Why not?” Yuri asked, his eyebrows knitting slightly before he turned to look at his female coach. “Is she not good enough for them?”

Lilia’s eyes seemed to explode as she glared at Yuri, her jaw setting tightly.

“If she weren’t good enough do you think I would have taken her in? She’s plenty good enough--probably close to your level, but she doesn’t compete because despite her being a much better dancer than you, her jumps lack enough height to give her consistent rotation that could help her score well. If she could make them more consistent, she’d perform incredibly well,”

Yuri twitched.

“and I expect you to help her with that.” Lilia hissed.

Yuri glanced at Lilia, then sucked on his water bottle quietly again, throwing his official Russian jacket over his shoulders.  
When Lucya took her place on the ice, Lilia straightened, and so did Yuri, ever so slightly, and she mentioned, her voice more maternal than he’d expected,  
“She’s skating to an English song, Calypso.”

Yuri’s eyes winced in focus, his eyebrows knitting as she slid into her spot on the ice. Yuri knew that it was essential to know the song and its purpose to truly understand the genius and poise behind a piece.

“What’s it about?”

“Calypso is the name of a specific boat, and much like you had to find your Agape last year, she had to find hers.”  
Yuri almost opened his mouth to ask why it mattered that the song had any alliance with boats, but then he was struck with a sharp realization. She’d mentioned that her father worked on the docks and ports; perhaps that was what Lilia meant by Lucya finding her Agape.

Shifting slightly to get more comfortable, Yuri let his eyes rest neutrally on Lucya for one of the first times since they’d met. His anger was slowly being replaced by exhaustion and curiosity, although had someone asked, he would have immediately snapped back to his irritable nature.

Once the arena had gone completely silent, Lucya’s music began, a light strum of acoustic strings, incredibly reminiscent of the ocean atmosphere, prompting her head upward, before the music reached a swollen crescendo of strings, where she seemingly popped up, her arms flinging upward while she dove into a rather forward-tilted spread eagle, giving a quick spin at the sound of a dock bell, and moments after, again. Yuri’s eyes opened slightly in curiosity, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly tickled at the way she span so briskly at the ringing of the ship’s echoing bell. The program was solid--as expected from somebody like Lilia as a choreographer. Her program had been his ultimate victory and ultimate gold-winning program. Lucya herself wasn’t half bad; Lilia wasn’t kidding when she said that she could go toe-to-toe with him in skating, but he could also see what she meant when he jumps weren’t exactly high enough or polished correctly enough for her to get any good technical score. She had more power in her step sequences than she did her jumps. Although ballet assisted in proper skating technique, it was almost obvious that the skates’ weight was making the dancer a little heavy-footed. She seemed aware of it herself. Every time a jump wasn’t as solid as it could have been, Yuri could see a flash of frustration animate every inch of her face, even after directions and small snippets of encouragement from both Lilia and Yakov. Yuri remained silent, analyzing Lucya’s skating like he would a rival, his jaw setting tightly in thought.

Once Lucya slid off the ice, her face clearly not as excited as it had been before she hit the rink, Lilia rose and gave her a hug that Yuri thought could rival the hugs his grandma would give him when he came home from elementary school. Lucya smiled, but Yuri could sense the earlier funk that had made him irritated, but instead of letting it fester his mind, he glanced at her, his eyebrows knitting only slightly, and he didn’t say a word, instead regarding her with a blink when she caught his eye. There was no animosity in that brief moment of eye contact. Yuri knew well enough how thin someone’s skin could get when frustration burned deep into the body. It always hit the skin first, starting with a red face, then a warmth that could spread to the head, and if a fit were to be thrown, the rest of the body could be burned--and that didn’t even cover the damage of pride.

Once both Yuri and Lucya had packed their things, the conversation surrounding him didn’t cross his mental barrier. He didn’t feel like talking, and he had enough on his mind to entertain the thought of joining. Luckily, his two coaches knew him well enough to regard his silence as ordinary and nothing worth concern. All of them eventually piled into the car, and instead of speaking, both Lucya and Yuri stayed quiet. Lucya kept her eyes on the buildings and architecture, while Yuri kept his eyes on the road, willing his mind to wander quietly, both ruminating and wondering at the same time. 

He wasn’t really angry for the time being, just contemplative.


End file.
